The Inexplicable Miss Molly Hooper
by WillSherJohnKhan
Summary: Interdimensional time travelling mystery.
1. The Missing Pathologist

221B BAKER STREET - 2015

Sherlock Holmes sat at his kitchen table. In front of him a beaker on a stand over a Bunsen burner, its contents just starting to boil when his mobile began to ring. As the experiment required his full attention, being that its result would prove beyond a shadow of a doubt the guilt or innocence of a client, he ignored the irritating distraction, sighing with relief when it finally stopped ringing.

Time was of the essence with an experiment such as this, any false move on his part would cause an inaccurate reading, which could result in dire consequences for his client. He was just about to add the contents of the pipet in his hand to the boiling liquid when his mobile began to ring once again.

The moment was lost, the experiment ruined.

Sherlock grabbed his phone. "What Lestrade," he snapped. "I was just…"

"I don't care what you're working on Sherlock," Lestrade growled in response. "Get your arse over to Barts morgue – now!"

And the line went dead.

Sherlock checked the screen, most put out when it confirmed that the Detective Inspector had indeed disconnected the call.

BARTS HOSPITAL – MORGUE

When he arrived at Barts, John was waiting for him, having been similarly summoned by Lestrade.

When they entered the morgue they found that it was an active crime scene.

When Lestrade made his way over to them. John asked. "Where's Molly?" as he looked around for the young pathologist.

"She's the reason for all this," Lestrade responded as he indicated the CSI work being performed.

Sherlock glanced over as Anderson and his team worked diligently collecting swabs and samples.

Lestrade's gaze followed Sherlock's. "There are signs that there was a struggle. As near as we can tell Molly put up a hell of a fight."

"So where is she?" Sherlock asked, his concern only too clear to his friends.

"There is no trace of her anywhere," came the unsatisfactory response.

"Don't be ridiculous Lestrade," Sherlock responded impatiently. "She can't have just disappeared into thin air."

"But that's the thing Sherlock. Molly isn't just missing, it's like she never existed."

Sherlock was now genuinely annoyed. He'd always regarded Lestrade as a reasonable, down to earth sort of person. But his statement was bordering on the fanciful.

"Even if she has been kidnapped, as is clear from what's happened here, there would still be records of her somewhere. Her Birth Certificate, Medical Degrees, friends and family," he stated with conviction.

"But that's just it, we've checked the records, there is no birth certificate for her, no lease for her flat under her name, school records, medical degrees. And even those who know her well, family and friends claim to have never heard of her…"

"That's impossible."

"That's why I called you. As far as I can discover, the only people who currently remember Molly are you, me, John and Stamford. And I'm not afraid to admit that I'm concerned that there's a very good chance that we may end up forgetting her too."

At that moment Lestrade was called away.

Sherlock considered all that Scotland Yard detective had told him. He intended to perform his own investigation to confirm the validity of these unbelievable facts. But if they turned out to be true…

For a man used to deductive reasoning based on cold, hard logic, backed up by the application of scientific methodology. It was highly unnerving to be struck by a sense of growing unease and foreboding for the safety of his pathologist.

For wherever Molly was; she was in very grave danger.


	2. Out of Place, Out of Time

LONDON – 1895

The pain she felt as she slammed into the ground came as a huge relief to Molly Hooper. It meant that her tummy-churning journey had finally come to an end, and that she had returned back to something that resembled reality.

Momentarily stunned, she stayed where she'd unceremoniously landed, only scrambling unsteadily to her feet when she became aware of a horse-drawn carriage bearing down on her.

Her body still swaying from the after-effects of being forcibly snatched from her place of work and then almost being trampled, Molly took several calming breathes, using the time to regain her senses as she tried to establish where exactly she'd ended up.

Looking around her, she recognised enough of the buildings to know that she was still in London. She let out a sigh of relief. But as she viewed the skyline she frowned. 'That couldn't be right…'

Glancing around her she noted the state of the roads, the people moving all around her, and what they wore. The pungent yet fresh smell of horse manure in the air, so different from the London she knew and loved.

And she realised that her initial assessment was true….

Through an inexplicable feat of time-travel Molly Hooper has ended up in Victorian London.

And as if that wasn't enough to get her head around, Molly now began to recognise faces in the crowd as they went about their business. It wasn't like these people resembled people she knew in her time. She wasn't looking at people that were related to her friends and associates. They were the people she knew.

"That can't be good," she muttered under her breath.

Molly was a huge fan of the TV series Doctor Who, but that didn't make her an expert on time-travel. She remembered in the episode The Shakespeare Code when the Tenth Doctor brought Martha Jones to Elizabethan London to see William Shakespeare himself perform at The Globe Theatre. Martha had been rightly concerned about what she could and couldn't do in case it impacted on her own timeline. But Martha hadn't seen anyone she knew personally. No, the situation Molly found herself facing resembled more that faced by Rose Tyler and Mickey Smith in the episodes Rise of the Cybermen / The Age of Steel, what science fiction writers referred to as an Alternate Reality.

Molly decided it was time to get some answers: How was she brought here? Why was she brought here? And how she was going to get back to her own time and reality?

Decision made, Molly walked with determination through the familiar, yet strangely unfamiliar streets until she reached her destination, the address where she knew she would find the only person with a mind exceptional enough to help her – 221B Baker Street.


	3. A Solution to Boredom

221B BAKER STREET – 1895

Sherlock Holmes, Great Britain's, if not the world's only private consulting detective was bored. There are no cases to solve, or at least none worth his time.

Ever since the demise of Professor Moriarty, the most intellectually stimulating opponent he was ever likely to encounter, followed by the capture of Colonel Sebastian Moran, A man who managed to be both hero and villain with his remarkable air riffle. Every other case that had been brought to his attention seemed trivial and meaningless by comparison.

Compounding his situation was the simple matter that his friend and biographer, Doctor John Watson was currently away. Spending a few relaxing days with his wife, Mary in the country.

Leaving the great detective with nothing to preoccupy his mind, no way to quieten his ever-constant need for stimulation in the form of an intriguing problem to solve.

So he turned to the only option left open to him. But just as he was on the point of injecting the seven percent solution into his arm, the syringe was snatched out of his hand.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing Sherlock?" exclaimed the most remarkable looking young woman the detective could ever recall having laid eyes on.

As she clutched the implement to her chest, she continued despairingly. "So some things never change."

Though taken aback by her appearance, the detective recovered himself quickly, and instantly took inventory of the forthright young woman before him. First and foremost he noted her unconventional attire: a white coat, trousers and flat shoes, so, possibly an actress. Upon further inspection he dismissed this notion, given the monogram on the jacket, the small callosus on her fingers and the chemical odour she attempted to hide with some form of perfume, led the detective to the conclusion that she worked at the mortuary at one of London's Hospitals. Then there was the informal way she addressed him, as though they were intimate acquaintances. There was a something about the woman, though small and plain, something that could best be described as otherworldly, which all led to the inescapable, though illogical conclusion…

"Sherlock, I think I've travelled in time," came the confirmation. "Or possibly inter-dimensionally…" she added, chewing distractedly on her lower lip.

Sherlock frowned. Everything in his cold scientific heart rebelled against such fantastical notions. But as he continued to observe her, his keen intellect acknowledged that the unusual woman before him was as scientifically motivated, in the medical sciences at least, as he was, and was therefore not likely to be prone to delusions of the fanciful sort, save that of the romantic arena. But that was due entirely to her sex…

"Sherlock! Snap out of your damned Mind Palace! I need your help, now!"

Holmes felt his jaw literally drop. No one, certainly not anyone of the female persuasion had ever spoken to him quite in that manner before.

He was instantly smitten, though not in any romantic sense. He simply admired her forthright manner. Indicating the sofa with an elegant sweep of his hand. "Please take a seat, Miss…?"

"Molly Hooper," Molly replied, as she sat down, the strange events once again threatening to overwhelm her. But she quickly regained her senses, unwilling to give in to such weakness. She needed answers.

"Now, Miss Hooper," Holmes began. "How may I be of service?"

Looking the detective squarely in the eye, Molly began her unusual tale. "The facts are these. I'm from the year 2015. I work at St Bart's Hospital, I'm a Pathologist, and I was just finishing up my work for the day, when I became aware of an odd glow that seemed to emanate from somewhere behind me. Before I could turn to ascertain the cause, I was grabbed from behind and pulled into… a time tunnel, or something of the like. I struggled to free myself. When I finally succeeded, I found myself… here, in London, in late nineteenth century London. But a London that contains people I know and recognise from my own time. Including you."

"Fascinating," Holmes murmured.

Molly looked down, the syringe still clasped in her hand. Saying aloud the events that had taken place hadn't made the situation feel more real. Instead she was left wondering it was all a dream, or a hallucination…

But the detective would have none of it. Getting up from his chair, he retrieved the syringe from her, and placed it back in its case, before putting the case back in the desk draw.

He no longer needed the artificial stimulant. He finally had something far more intriguing to occupy his mind.

Turning back to his client he informed her. "When you eliminate the impossible, Miss Hooper, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

"So, you're… you're going to help me?" Molly asked, a spark of hope reigniting at the detectives determined expression.

"I am," he assured her.


	4. Following in Her Footsteps

BART'S MORGUE – 2015

Sherlock sat watching, then re-watching the footage from the security cameras. It showed Molly going about her daily business, until there is a sudden flash of light.

Molly begins to struggle and thrash about. She appears to try and call out, but its like someone has a hand over her mouth. Except that the video footage clearly shows that she is the only person in the morgue at the time.

So what the hell is going on?

"Looks like she's having a fit," John offered as he watched the footage over Sherlock's shoulder.

"Possibly," the consulting detective replied, his eyes never leaving the screen.

"Maybe she's finally lost her marbles," Lestrade callously remarked. "Cutting up cadavers every day, it must pray on the mind."

"This is Molly we're talking about, Lestrade," Sherlock snapped angrily. "She's made of far sterner stuff."

"Oh, you know her do you?" the Detective Inspector asked, clearly surprised. "If I'd known that I wouldn't have called you in."

John looked at Lestrade totally gob smacked. "We're talking about Molly, Molly Hooper, Pathologist. She who has assisted not only us, but you as well Lestrade in the solving of a number of cases."

But Lestrade's expression remained completely blank.

"Ignore him John," Sherlock advised. "He's clearly come under the influence of whatever it is that is so determined that we all forget Molly Hooper ever existed."

"But why?"

"I don't know," Sherlock replied honestly. "But I intend to find out."

John peered at the footage. "What's that?" he queried. The video showed Molly continuing her struggle against an unseen assailant, and then there was another flash of light, and Molly had disappeared. "A camera glitch?"

Sherlock got to his feet and made his way over to the spot where Molly had stood. He became immediately aware of…'something' there was no other way to describe the sensation that washed over him, urging him to step forward. But he refused to give into its pull, for the moment at least.

Retrieving his magnifying lens from an inside jacket pocket he spent several minutes examining the area, looking for anything that would give him a clue as to the whereabouts of the young pathologist. But it soon became evident that he wasn't going to find any answers here.

His gaze returned to the spot where Molly had stood when she disappeared.

"You've found something?" John asked.

When John made to join him Sherlock ordered. "Stay back."

John did as requested, though his expression showed genuine confusion.

Sherlock made his way back to the spot where he'd felt the unusual sensation. It was still there, but weaker. Time was running out. He dared not mention the idea that was forming in his mind to John. The former army doctor would assume he was high. As it was he was having difficulty believing it himself. It went against everything he believed in. It wasn't logical. But he needed to make a decision, and quickly.

Turning back to address his friend, he requested. "Whatever you do John, promise me you wont forget Molly Hooper, or me." Without waiting for a response he took a step forward, and disappeared in a flash of light.

BAKER STREET, LONDON – 1895

Molly and Holmes were standing outside 221B trying to hail a hansom cab when they were temporarily blinded by a bright flash.

Then they were knocked to the pavement, the result of colliding with the large object that had emerged through the light.

Holmes quickly got to his feet, before going to the aid of his client. "Miss Hooper, are you all right?"

"Molly? Is that you?"

Molly gave a gasp of surprise when she recognised the voice of the third person now getting to his feet.

"Sherlock!" she cried with delight. "How did you find me?"

Sherlock looked around him, a concerned frown marring his brow as he took in the vastly different London to the one he was used to. And then his gaze fell on Molly's companion.

Noting the stunned expressions on both men's faces, Molly decided there was only one thing to do. "Sherlock Holmes, circa 2015, let me introduce you to…Sherlock Holmes, circa 1895."


End file.
